dead trees like cotton against the clouds

23:37
all streetlights become moons
on your way back home

you've been on my mind
with every scratch of lead on paper and ink and ink
cut print moving on
you stay fresh in my brain like a stamp on a postcard
guts and guts and more

yet you learned to fade like they all do
you learned i can only need you for so long and that thought is just desolating
i don't crave your sympathy half as much as i'd like to think

but the nights are getting really ******* cold
and i'm empty the more i push; it's still what i wanted
and what i'm working towards
and what i'm not ever giving up on
no pills will be too tempting to me despite how much i hate myself

there's a fire cracking in my bones
and your smile's not growing

but i'm worthless
and i often wonder if you know the feeling

you
divide time in half-
                                    hours
because that's all
                         you can
                                   afford

won't* be one of the god-abandonned-me's
in the months i've known your
gentle balance, my jade daydreams -
eyes shut
lulled by a deep sense of belonging
only you would fathom
you!
frail architect of the inner workings of an
entire GENERATION
who took a bullet to further hide
from the depths
and the eyes that never blinked or looked away
you defied what pains the soul
recklessly
You cleared the way, bracing for an
impact too shattering for words and yet
here we are
[from the edge to the center you crafted
a place for yourself deep through
the waterworks and broken down
inside the steam pipes you found yourself
a home]

I have to hold on to every last bit of
you; you've been slipping away too long
now, your breath's leaving the small of
my neck now,
and there's no certainty in my lust for
your appeal, I can't tell if your smile is
enough for me to go on. I'll shower in
the memories of what we had when the
beach skies were green and the cities,
beautiful.

I. there is a sort of ephemeral longing
you can only find in the heartbreaks of grown-up girls
(old tracks, cleaned room, messy hair, simplicity)

thinking back on the glowing days of adolescence
when bad flicks brought you places

IV. back then, the anticipation of being older was
almost tangible enough to cut
in halves, fourths and one-tenths

now the mere thought turns you off;
lemon cakes taste as bitter as the sugar
poured in your third afternoon coffee

V-III. your love of chocolate was left at the beach
along with pink heart-shaped sunglasses

(i rented that semicentennial-old russian novel
to convince myself that dreams aren't real
and until the skin breaks, your past stays intact
at least that's what H.H. taught me)

VI. looking back, your childhood was not as bad
as you make it out to be, truth be told
fascinated by your infatuation with the
place where you always belonged;

II. today the world is cold, punctuated
by the sore troubles of reality
that friends, majors and late-night talks
both compose and mend

and heaven knows how much you have to say.